Lightens with love-and hope-and anxious fears!
Ha! see! he has him now!-he clasps him round-
Kisses his face;-puts back the curling locks
That shaded his fine brow :-looks in his eyes—
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands-
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping-and resigned awaits
Undreaded death.

And pangless.

And death came soon and swift,

The huge pile sank down at once Into the opening earth. Walls—arches-roofAnd deep foundation stones-all mingling fell!

CCCXXXVI. WILL. MOTHERWELL, 1797-1835.

SCHOOL-DAYS.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think,

When baith bent down owre ae braid page,

Wi' ae buik on our knee,

Thy lips were on thy lesson, but

My lesson was in thee.

O mind ye how we hung our heads,

How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the schule-weans laughin' said,
We cleek'd thegither hame ?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays-
The schule then skaled at noon-
When we ran aff to speel the braes-
The broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about,
My heart flows like a sea,

As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' schule-time and o' thee.
Oh, mornin' life! oh, mornin' love!
Oh, lightsome days and lang,

When hinnied hopes around our hearts
Like simmer blossoms sprang.

CCCXXXVII. THOMAS DALE, 1797-18**.

FUNERAL DIRGE.

Dear as thou wert, and justly dear,

We will not weep for thee,

One thought shall check the starting tear,
It is that thou art free.

And thus shall Faith's consoling power

The tears of love restrain;

Oh! who that saw thy parting hour,
Could wish thee here again?

Triumphant in thy closing eye
The hope of glory shone,
Joy breathed in thine expiring sigh,
To think the fight was won.
Gently the passing spirit fled,
Sustained by grace divine:
Oh ! may such grace on me be shed,
And make my end like thine!

CCCXXXVIII. THO. HAYNES BAYLY, 1797-1839.

1. THE NEGLECTED CHILD.

I never was a favourite,

My mother never smiled
On me with half the tenderness
That blessed her fairer child;
I've seen her kiss my sister's cheek,
While fondled on her knee;

I've turned away, to hide

my tears,

There was no knee for me!

And yet I strove to please with all
My little store of sense;

I strove to please,-and infancy
Can rarely give offence:
But when my artless efforts met
A cold ungentle check,
I did not dare to throw myself
In tears upon her neck!

How blessed are the beautiful!

Love watches o'er their birth;

--

Oh, beauty, in my nursery

I learned to know thy worth, For even there I often felt

Forsaken and forlorn;

And wished-for others wished it tooI never had been born!

I'm sure I was affectionate;

But in my sister's face

There was a look of love that claimed

A smile or an embrace:

But when I raised my lip to meet
The pressure children prize,
None knew the feelings of my heart,--

They spoke not in my eyes.

But, oh! that heart too keenly felt
The anguish of neglect ;

I saw my sister's lovely form

With gems

and roses decked :

I did not covet them; but oft,
When wantonly reproved,

I envied her the privilege
Of being so beloved.

But soon a time of triumph came,—
A time of sorrow too;

For sickness o'er my sister's form
Her venomed mantle threw :
The features, once so beautiful,
Now wore the hue of death;
And former friends shrank fearfully
From her infectious breath.

'Twas then, unwearied, day and night,

I watched beside her bed;

And fearlessly upon my breast

I pillowed her poor head.

She lived!-and loved me for my care,-
My grief was at an end;

I was a lonely being once,
But now I have a friend.

2. SONG: I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.

I'd be a butterfly born in a bow'r,

Where roses and lilies and violets meet; Roving for ever from flower to flower,

And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet. I'd never languish for wealth or for power, I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet, I'd be a butterfly born in a bow'r,

And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet. Oh could I pilfer the wand of a fairy,

I'd have a pair of those beautiful wings;

Their summer day's ramble is sportive and airy,
They sleep in a rose when the nightingale sings.
Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary,
Power, alas! nought but misery brings;
I'd be a butterfly sportive and airy,

Rock'd in a rose when the nightingale sings. What though you tell me each gay little rover Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day,

Surely 'tis better when summer is over,

To die, when all fair things are fading away. Some in life's winter may toil to discover Means of procuring a weary delay ;

I'd be a butterfly living a rover,

Dying when fair things are fading away.

3. SONG: OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER

Oh, no! we never mention her,

Her name is never heard;

My lips are now forbid to speak
That once familiar word.

From sport to sport they hurry me,
To banish my regret ;

And when they win a smile from me,
They think that I forget.

They bid me seek in change of scene
The charms that others see;

But were I in a foreign land,
They'd find no change in me.

'Tis true that I behold no more
The valley where we met;
I do not see the hawthorn tree,
But how can I forget?

For oh there are so many things,
Recal the past to me;

The breeze upon the sunny hills,
The billows of the sea.
The rosy tint that decks the sky,
Before the sun is set;

Aye, every leaf I look upon,

Forbids me to forget.

They tell me she is happy now,
The gayest of the gay;
They hint that she forgets me-
I heed not what they say.

Like me perhaps she struggles with
Each feeling of regret ;

But if she loved as I have loved,

She never can forget.

CCCXXXIX. DAVID MACBETH MOIR, 1798-1851.

EVENING.

Lo! in the south a silver star
With amber radiance shines afar ;-
The eldest daughter of the night,
In glory warm, in beauty bright.
Thou diamond in the pathless dome
Of azure, whither dost thou come ?
Far, far, within the orb-less blue,
A tiny lustre twinkles through,
With distant and unsteady light,
To catch the eye, then mock the sight;
Fill-as the shades of darkness frown,
And throw their viewless curtains down,
The very veil that mantles earth
Awakens thee to brighter birth,
And bids thee glow with purer ray,
A lily on the tomb of day.